


I know that I hung on a windy tree /nine long nights/wounded with a spear

by arthur_177



Series: An jenem Baum, da jedem fremd, aus welcher Wurzel er wächst [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: A sort-of fix-it, Depression, Paganism, Use and Abuse of Norse Mythology, Valhalla, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:16:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_177/pseuds/arthur_177
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took the powers of Asgard to break Clint Barton. It takes the powers of Asgard to mend him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I know that I hung on a windy tree /nine long nights/wounded with a spear

**Author's Note:**

> First non-kinkmeme thing I post, so apologies for strange plotbunnies. This is what happens when a heathen writer thinks he's hurt Clint quite enough and attempts fix-it of a sort, so warnings for strangeness, depression, use and abuse of Norse mythology, what might be considered as religious overtones, perhaps overly Shakespearean! Thor and feeding ravens unhealthy food. All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Title is from the passage in the Hávamál that describes how the runes came to Odin.

And so he lives on. He gets up on the morning, showers, spars with Tasha, eats when somebody reminds him, does whatever paperwork Hill and whatever mission Fury put in front of him. His aim is impeccable, his contribution to the missions outstanding, his eyes empty. He doesn't joke over the comms anymore, and Fury reassigns the new handler he'd been assigned after one week. He doesn't use the vents anymore to travel, and he observes how nobody dares to meet his eyes, for fear of finding ice blue, perhaps, or for fear of finding nothing.

He does not find it in him to care.

He focusses on the constants of his life – the fabric of his uniform, the way the shooting glove and armguard fit perfectly, the weight of the bow. People come and go. Focussing on them is unwise, irresponsible. (He doesn't think of that one day after Jamestown, when he'd been the same, but different, when C – when a door was closed behind him and he'd received the dressing down of his life, _don't you dare to give me this shit, Barton, you know better than this_ , and the next morning neither of them spoke of the way there was a _you're breaking my heart, Barton, please stop_ hidden somewhere in there and how Clint had sobbed into an expensive jacket, hands fisted in the material while fingers softly combed through his hair, as if he was a precious thing, as if he mattered. It was in another life. It doesn't matter anymore.

 

He is sitting on the roof of Stark Tower, looking at the sunset and at the nothingness of it all, when Thor comes to stand beside him. “I would make a comment on the magnificence of the sun's spectacle, but I know you have been rendered blind to anything but your targets”. Clint shrugs. “Anything you wanted apart from delivering a lecture on the beauty of the world and how there is so much for me to live for and be happy about?” He thinks he might have punched him if he'd said it. _You know better than this. We're worried. Please stop._

Thor doesn't. Instead he says, “There is a hall in my father's palace. It is most splendid, and every night a joyous feast is held where the most noble warriors drink and speak of their adventures and laugh, and their wounds are healed and their life is good. There are days when it is fit for those of this realm to speak with them, but Asgard is merciful, and exceptions are made. I bring you tidings from Valhalla, Eye of the Hawk. May they clear the darkness that weights down upon you.” He hands Clint a parchment (he would have thought a parchment, seriously, how is this is life. He would have. Now he just takes it. A parchment. So what.) and leaves him. Clint looks at the parchment, and the meaning of Thor's words are lost in the dark cloud of his mind until he reads the words on the paper.

 

 _Barton,_ it says. _I never thought I'd say this, but cut the lack of chatter. Intel may be slower to reach me up here than in my office, but I am familiar with recent events. Don't make this Jamestown all over again, Clint. Please. You're still breaking my heart, although I think literally that would now be beyond your ability. You are hurting my best asset, and you know how I feel about that. I am told that you now do paperwork and obey orders, so it may not surprise you overmuch that I now bend and break rules if it suits my purpose. I'm supposed to focus on being part of a mead-drinking viking feast reenactment, but I swear to the Allfather that I will move Asgard and Midgard and whichever other realms to knock sense back into that stubborn brilliant head of yours if I have to. I'll always have your back, Clint, but I need you to watch out for yourself. And that's an order. I'll be in touch. And Barton, if I catch you stealing my things out of restricted storage again and moping over them on the rooftop, you're doing CS9-47 forms in triplicate._

 

It's signed _Phil_ (not Coulson, not Agent Coulson – Phil, a name like a gift Clint deserves to have after everything they've been through). Clint carefully thumbs over the name and takes care for his tears not to drip onto the writing. For the first time since Manhattan, he smiles.

 

 

He concedes that maybe sunset from Stark Tower actually doesn't look half bad. Phil's always had an eye for things like that, the rainbow in the freezing rain when all Clint could focus on was how damn cold his hands were and why the mark chose this particular weather to be two hours late for work. He wonders if he can see the sun setting over a New York which slowly comes back to life after the attack. He waves in the general direction of where he imagines Asgard to be.

He does his reading and is mindful of ravens after that, giving them a quick salute or a brief 'say thanks to your boss, will you'. Noone calls him out on it, not even Stark, although he wonders if that isn't because Tasha threatened to kill him if he did. And of course to Thor it's the most normal thing in the world.

After the next mission, Fury takes one look at him and assigns him a new handler. Clint mouths him off over the radio, and Agent Fitzgerald complains, but he never says 'cut the chatter' or 'eyes on target, Barton, or I'm assigning you to financial for a month'. Fury doesn't reassign him after a week, the handler doesn't object to always being Agent Fitzgerald, never 'Barton's handler' or 'my handler', and Clint buys him a drink or invites him to lunch for putting up with all the unspoken implications that Clint is prepared to work as an asset for other agents, but his handler has joined the Einherjer at Odin's table and he will not take another till his dying day. Steve takes to Agent Fitzgerald, because Agent Fitzgerald needs someone to drive him home on the days when one beer isn't enough to deal with the fact that no matter what he does, his foremost flaw is that he isn't Coulson, and because he knows a little about loss and a lot about not being what people want him to be. Pepper takes to Clint because she coped better than he did, but she needs nights where they sit on the deliberately ratty couch in Clint's room, drinking cheap champagne that Pepper smuggled in past the 'no drink not approved of by the resident genius billionaire playboy philanthropist is to enter the premises' alarm system Tony no doubt has installed, and they laugh about the time when Phil consulted her because he was at a loss what to get the four-year-old daughter of the Cellist and they went on a three hour shopping trip after which Tony was so ridiculously adamant that they were dating that Phil couldn't resist but deadpan that Barton would never forgive him for cheating, and the way Coulson was old-fashioned when they went for dinner after really good or really bad missions sometimes, holding the door and ordering the wine, as if it was the 40s and Clint really was his date rather than someone he just looked out for, even if it meant protecting him from drinking bad wine.

When the next morning, after Pepper goes to the kitchen in the dress she wore the previous night, Tony forgets for a moment that they're handling Clint like raw eggs and says in mock outrage what his boyfriend would have said to this sort of thing, Clint feels rather than sees the entire room freeze. Clint – laughs, takes the last donut Tony had taken from his hands, and tells him good-naturedly that he wished Coulson would have felt for him that way, but that his non-boyfriend would have told him to focus on that thing he was supposed to have finished for R&D two days ago. As the room audibly exhales and the tension reverts into shared relief and happiness (including a hug from Thor which must have cracked a rib), he catches Bruce smiling at him, in a relieved way bearing witness to someone who has been there and wasn't sure he could come back. He grabs coffee and the donut and goes back to his room.

On his windowsill sits a raven with the CS9-47 form that went missing before he got a chance to fill it out. The raven (who is Hugin, because by now Clint can tell) drops the form on his desk and caws at him. Clint caws back and swears the raven gives him an eyeroll, but if one is nicknamed after a bird of prey and just went through the year he did, he reckons one has leave to do things like that in the privacy of Avenger-Divine Messenger meetings. The form has a list of points he should mention in his report in neat, small script. Underneath, in the handwriting that used to express despair about his way to write reports, it says _Good to have you back. Now do the form, Hill doesn't deserve the grief you're causing her with this._ It also says _I'm glad that you're back, Clint_ before that was crossed out not particularly efficiently. Clint smiles. Viking reenactment feast or not, Clint's glad that he has Coulson back as Coulson.

He gives the donut to the raven. He doesn't know if divine ravens like donuts, but given Thor's love for poptarts he supposes it's worth a shot.

It's the least he can do.


End file.
